Belle and the Beast
by TheFoolontheHill301
Summary: A retelling, modern day version of Beauty and the Beast.
1. Prologue

Prologue.

"People are literally dying on your land."

Garrick sneered at Gaston from across the table. He knew he'd lost the battle. "You'll be out of here eventually," Gaston continued conversationally, shaking his head slowly as if to say 'what a shame'. Garrick tightened his grip on the table until his knuckles turned white. "Listen, all I'm trying to say is that you are running a faulty organization here. If I were you, I'd get out of here as quickly as possible and go find another commune to stay with before the cops get you."

"We've been fine here for three years," Garrick snapped, finally letting go of the table. "We've only had two deaths, and they were completely accidental."

Gaston smirked again, placing his hands in his pockets. Garrick twitched keeping an eye on Gaston's hands the entire time. Absentmindedly, he rested his hand on the handle of the drawer in front of him. If this was going to turn into a fight, he wanted to get to his weapon as quickly as possible.

"Tell you what," Gaston said, turning, much to Garrick's surprise, and walking back to the door. I'll give you until your twenty-first birthday to fix up a place for these kids and get the under control. If you can't get it together by then, I'm gonna send Lefou in here with some guys to take the place." Garrick froze. He'd hoped Desmonds wouldn't say anything like that. He knew he had no chance if Gaston had decided to send his cronies in.

"And when is your birthday, Gar?" Garrick glared at him with every nasty bone in his body.

"February twenty sixth," he muttered through clenched teeth. Gaston's smirk quickly turned into a full-fledged smile.

"I'll see you at the end of the month then," he said before promptly turning on his heel and heading out the door without as much as a glance over his shoulder.


	2. Chapter 1

Why did it have to be her? She was the strangest creature ever to move into L.A. Innocence radiated from her perfectly straight, naturally golden coloured hair, untouched face and body, and perfect, immaculate skin. She didn't belong in a place like this. She never would.

Lefou leaned forward slightly, holding tightly to the metal bars of the fire escape he was on. Belle was her name. Everyone knew it. She stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a wonder she even survived the five weeks she'd lived there. Her father was a complete nutcase. Her neighbors (including Lefou) were rude, inconsiderate, and inappropriate. It was obvious she hated it there. She was miserable. He wondered if she ever considered running away.

The window of her bedroom was right across the alley from the fire escape that was perched conveniently outside the window of his tiny, one room apartment. Every night he would sit outside and watch her read her books through the window. Although they'd only met a few times, he felt he knew her better than anyone else, except for Gaston and Sally, of course.

Below him he could hear the girls babbling on. The three of them, Roxie, Coco, and Amber, were constantly hanging out in that one alley way. It was their spot, where they did business, and, considering it was Gaston's alley way, he had the final say of whether they belonged there or not.

Lefou stuck his head out over the railing, reluctantly taking his eyes off Belle for a moment, to yell down to the girls. "Awright, ladies?" The three of them giggled immediately. "Yea, we hangin', 'Fou," Coco yelled up to him. He grinned. "We'll have to have you up for dinner one night again, we had fun that night," he answered. "We'd love to," Roxie said and they giggled obnoxiously again before directing their attention to a young man walking by.

Just as he sat back on the ladder again, he heard a familiar squeal inside of the apartment. He quickly climbed through the window just in time to see Sally being thrown onto the bed by a rather annoyed-looking Gaston. "Can you not throw her?" Lefou asked, climbing onto the bed and pulling his sister to him. He looked her over, making sure she was alright before sitting her contently in his lap. Automatically, she cuddled up to him.

"She was climbing on me and I didn't want her to," was Gaston's response as he lit up a cigarette. "So I threw her," he finished with a puff of smoke. Sally coughed. Lefou placed his hand over her mouth and nose.

"She's really small. I don't want her to break." He looked down at his nine year-old sister who was staring at him with wide eyes. After a moment, he looked over at Gaston who was giving him a disapproving look, and he immediately decided to keep his mouth shut.

"I need you to pick something up for me tomorrow," he told Lefou conversationally. "So take your little bicycle and go out to the communes for me, okay?" Lefou shivered. He hated going out to the communes. The kids out there were even worse than the ones living in the city. There were no cops out in the rural parts. It was like a jungle out there.

"Okay?" he repeated with much more force.

"Okay," Lefou answered with a frown.

"You are such a douche, Lefou."


	3. Chapter 2

They lived on the third floor. Their apartment was only two rooms – a bedroom and a living room. The kitchen was in the living room and the bathroom was in the closet in the bedroom. Before they had moved there, Belle didn't think people actually lived in places like that. She hadn't even known they existed. But here she was, stuck in this dump. The horrible thing was that she was afraid to leave the dump because whatever was outside was worse.

Her father was a "scientist". A chemical engineer, if you will. He didn't really have a job, which was the reason they had to sell the farm and move east to L.A. to live in this bucket of shit. He "invented" things and sold them to companies. Or, that's what he was _supposed_ to do. That's what he told people. But he hadn't sold anything at all since Belle's mother had died five years before.

Maurice was a tall man, with grey, whiskey hair and a thick grey mustache. He own four suits made of corduroy which he wore in a cycle every day. As Belle entered the room, nearly tripping over a ring stand holding a beaker full of some unknown substance, she saw that her father had decided to wear his tan suit today. Sometimes, she was thankful that she had no friends - she probably would have died of embarrassment if they ever saw her home. The living room was completely full, to maximum capacity, of test tubes and beakers and bottles of chemicals that had been stored in one of the barns at the old house. Every day, all day long, Maurice would fiddle with his supplies, claiming to be on to something huge, something that would completely amaze the other scientists at the convention.

Three months ago, Maurice had gotten word of a convention not too far outside of L.A. that was offering a three million dollar reward to the invention that was most useful to man-kind. Now, knowing her father, Belle was certain Maurice didn't give a hoot about man-kind, but he certainly wanted that money badly enough. He'd worked non-stop on a formula that would create the best adhesive for work-sites. Personally, Belle didn't see how that would benefit humanity much, but she didn't argue. He could have quite the attitude when he wanted to.

Because of his insane endeavor, their apartment looked even crazier. There were dozens of things stuck to…well…just about every surface – and stuck for good. He'd tested all of his creations of just about everything he could, recording the differences in movement and mass every day. They had a toaster stuck to the wall next to the door, a chair, upside-down, on the wall near the bedroom, and several books stuck to the ceiling. One thing that Belle found particularly amusing was the giant, stuffed Pikachu that was hanging, by his lightning bolt shaped tail, to the ceiling over the kitchen counter.

"Belle, I'm leaving for the convention this afternoon," Maurice said stoically as he realized his daughter's presence, not taking his eyes off the folder of papers in front of him.

"Alrighty, Daddy, have fun."

"I'm going to be gone a little longer than planned," he said slowly. "I'll be home on Wednesday."

Belle froze. "You said you would only be gone a day," she said quietly. "That's five days." Absentmindedly, she spotted her mother's golden locket around Maurice's neck. Oh how often she thought he wasn't worthy of wearing it. He had no respect for her mother.

"I know, but I think I might have a chance of getting a good job with a company while I'm there." Belle frowned. He was lying, she could tell. His story was too vague.

"You could have told me!"

"Don't raise your voice to me, young lady!"

"I'm not! I'm just saying it's extremely inconsiderate of you first, not to tell me, and second, to actually leave me here _alone _for five days!"

"Don't call me inconsiderate! This is in our family's best interest! I'm doing this so that _you_ can go to school in the fall and get a good education!"

"You only want me to get a good education so that you can get me out of the house for good!"

"So what?"

Belle's voice got caught in her throat. Her father could be a real ass sometimes. Her pale hands closed into tight fists at her side. "Then why do I stay around?! I should just leave now so you don't have to deal with me anymore-"

"Belle, don't be so stupid. You wouldn't last a day out there on the street. While I'm gone, I want you to stay here. Don't leave the house and don't let anyone in."

"What if I want to go out?"

"You're not allowed. If I found out you did go out…you'll never leave this house."

He was contradicting himself. What an ass. Belle growled in frustration, glaring at her father, and turned around to march back into the bedroom.

"Isobel Carmichael, don't you slam that-"

Belle slammed the door before he could finish his sentence. She grabbed her book off the bed and hurried into the bathroom where she locked the door behind her and climbed into the empty bathtub. She opened the book on her lap and began to read.

Ah, reading. Her one, true vice. Reading could fix her mood, no matter how bad it was. They were the only thing that kept her sanity anymore. She scooted down lower into the old-fashioned, white, ceramic bathtub and brought the book closer to her face. The book she was reading was the Iliad – one her mother had given her years ago. She simply adored Greek Mythology and anything to do with it. A few minutes later, she heard a car door slam below the window and the familiar engine of their ancient Chevy pickup truck. Her father was leaving already. She cursed him lightly under her breath and, wiping a stray tear from her cheek, continued reading. She was alone now – for five days. Five days of complete terror that someone would climb into her window in the middle of the night and rob her, or worse. She wished, with all her heart, that she'd had someone to stay with her, or at least talk to for a while, just so there would be someone to remember her if anything horrible happened. She let out a dry sob and, carefully closing her book, she set it aside and hugged her knees close to her chest.

Only a few moments later, she heard the crash of metal outside the window and a boy yelling something. "Get off!" the familiar voice screamed. "I didn't do nothin' to you, creeps." Belle jumped up onto the side of the tub and peered out the window to the street below. A group of punker kids had formed a circle around a particularly tiny boy with bright red hair. She knew that boy. He lived in the apartment building across the alley. She saw him hanging out on the fire escape quite frequently, drawing in his notebook. What was his name?

"Tell your buddy, Gaston, we're looking for our pay for this month, got it?" one of the larger boys with a bright blue Mohawk said. The smaller boy backed up against the side of the building without uttering a word. "You got that, Lefou? You don't tell him and we come after you again, 'kay?" Lefou was his name. Abelard Lefou. He reminded Belle of a rat, in his features and habits. He was a master pick pocket. He had told her that when he'd first introduced himself.

And she remembered Gaston too. He was the larger, handsome looking fellow that Lefou followed around. Gaston Desmonds was sort of…the leader of the neighborhood gangs. He was king around those areas. That had been made very clear to Belle when she'd first moved in. She tried to keep a large distance between Gaston and herself at all times. As much of a "king" as he was, she was definitely not going to be his queen – which is what he had insinuated upon first meeting her.

As much of a creep as the two were, Belle had actually had a few conversations with Lefou. She knew that both of his parents were dead and that he was raising his little sister, Sally, in an apartment provided by Gaston – who basically provided all of his food and shelter in exchange for a servant-like relationship. He was a strange boy, but he had never done anything to Belle and he definitely didn't deserve to be beaten up like that.

She jumped out of the tub and scurried out into the living, grabbing a ring stand from one of the tables and making sure her key was in her pocket before dashing out the door and down the stairs. She quickly found the back door and watched the boys from a much closer distance for a few minutes. Nothing much had changed. Two of them were holding Lefou's arms while two others were kicking and hitting him. Belle glared at the boys, angry that there was nothing she could really do. Her grip tightened on the ring stand and she was about to open the door when the boys suddenly stopped. Puzzled she waited to see what caused their sudden change in mood.

Not two seconds later, she saw what had stopped them. Gaston, accompanied by a tiny little girl half his size, approached the group and they backed away immediately. He made no move to go and help his lackey, but the little girl rushed over and pulled him off the ground. She assumed the girl was Sally, Lefou's sister, and the small action warmed her heart a little.

"Is there a problem here, boys?" Gaston asked with one eyebrow raised. The tallest boy spoke up first.

"Nope, no problem here. We just wanted to make sure you got our message."

"And what would your message be?"

The boys all looked at each other and then the tall one spoke to Gaston again. "You owe us, Gaston. You're overdue."

Gaston sneered at them. "Now, gentlemen, are you really in that much of a hurry that you need the money _now_? Surely, you can wait another week?"

The tall boy shook his head. "We need it now, Gaston, we're in a rut." Gaston smirked at him and preceded to pull a roll of cash out of his pocket.

"This can hold you over until next week," he said, handing the money to them. The boys all nodded and hurried off. Gaston glanced at Lefou for a moment before his eyes rested on the window she was looking for. He grinned. Belle's eyes went wide.

In seconds, he was in the doorway, pushing it open and forcing himself inside. "Why, hello there, Belle, how are you this fine day?" She took a big step backward, her grip tightening on the ring stand once again.

"I'm doing alright, Gaston. How about yourself?"

Gaston smirked at her. "I'm good, thanks. Listen, Belle, I've been meaning to tell you – sorry about the way I acted last time. Let me make it up to you? I'll take you out to dinner tonight, or tomorrow night, if you prefer."

Belle clenched her teeth. "No thank you," she said politely. Gaston frowned.

"Really, Belle, what have you got to lose? Any girl would kill to be in your position right now."

Belle frowned. "Any girl except for me. No thank you, Gaston."

Gaston glared at her, puffing out his chest to look intimidating. Belle raised an eyebrow.

"You'll go with me soon enough, Carmichael. You'll see." With that he turned on his heel and left the building. The door slammed shut behind him and she rushed to the door.

"C'mon, Lefou, let's go. Sally, don't drop him."

She watched as the three of them made their way back into the building.


	4. Chapter 3

Maurice couldn't believe his daughter's behavior. She knew he was always busy trying to make the perfect concoction for this stupid conference. He was trying to get money for her for god's sake! Couldn't she give him a little room to breath? Ever since Mary had died, Isobel had been so scornful toward him. Was it something he was doing wrong? He thought they spent enough time together. What more did she want from him?

The bright orange sun was quickly setting behind buildings in front of him. The town was a while off yet, but civilization seemed so close. He hated driving to Wildemar from L.A. The area in between could be deadly if you were alone. So many punk communities were located there. The kids were delinquents and there was no one there to control them.

He was itching for some sign of human life. He'd been on the same dirt road for an hour and the silence was making him uncomfortable. It was unnatural. There was seemingly no life around him at all. No animals, no people – the trees didn't even move in the wind. Maurice leaned forward to turn the radio on, but when he pressed the button, nothing happened. _This damned truck. Nothing on it works…_ And then he heard it.

The rev of an engine behind him. He looked in his mirror to see two 1976 Mustang convertibles, with massive front engines, that had suddenly appeared on his tail. At first, he thought nothing of it. However, he quickly realized it wasn't completely normal for two, nearly identical cars to be chasing an old pickup truck down a deserted road in the middle of no man's land.

He sped up slightly.

So did the other cars.

Maurice flashed his lights, letting the other cars know that they were welcome to pass him. The blue Mustang flashed its lights too, in a different pattern, and both of the cars went even faster, eventually coming up on either side of Maurice's pathetic looking Chevy. Reluctantly, he turned to look out the window, to see the driver of the other car. A vicious, tattoo ridden, punk hung out of the passenger window. Maurice had trouble looking him in the eyes, which were black and blue and covered in shiny, silver piercings. Maurice waved his arm to tell the kids to pass. The boy in the window grinned and pulled out a hand gun.

Maurice slammed on the gas. His old truck wasn't prepared for this and his engine jerked, slowing the car dramatically. The car to his right took the opportunity to pull in sideways in front of him. As soon as he saw this, he slammed on the brakes and swerved to the right, causing the car to fly off the road and down into the woods that surrounded the road.

The truck tumbled a few times. Faintly, in the background of his mind somewhere, Maurice could hear the tinkle of glass as his chemicals were smashed and totaled. The car finally landed upside-down and preceded to slide down the hill the rest of the way. He hit his head hard on the steering wheel just before the air bag released and everything faded to black.

He could hear something. Crunching leaves. Footsteps? And then, it was quiet again. He opened his eyes. It was dark outside – nighttime. The window next to his head had been smashed out completely and Maurice was partly hanging out on the ground. After a moment, he realized he was lying on his stomach and staring at a pair of shoes that were inches from his face. So he had heard footsteps. He thought it had been a dream. How long ago was that?

Carefully, he lifted his head to get a better look at the person in front of him. They were wearing white socks that went up to his knee where a pair of metallic gold knickers started. Intrigued, Maurice pushed himself up higher to see the rest of the person.

It was a young boy – of seventeen or eighteen years – who wore a long black jacket lined with gold buttons and a white ruffled ascot. His hair resembled a Beatle, with a bright natural red/orange colour to it. He smiled down at Maurice.

"Hello," he said in a distinctive French accent. "You look like you're in trouble. Would you like assistance?" He didn't answer. He couldn't find his voice. A frown played at the boy's mouth. "You look 'orrible," he said with a pout. "I will help you." He leaned down and together the two of them managed to get Maurice out of the car and leaned up against a nearby tree. "Can you talk, Monsieur?" the boy asked politely. Maurice managed to breath the word "yes" and the boy smiled again. "Good good." he said with a twinkle in his eye. "My name is Evander and I am at your service. I should be happy to take you back to where I live and fix you up right."

Evander assisted Maurice in standing up and the two began making their way deeper into the woods. After a few minutes of struggling and silence, Maurice heard voices and music from somewhere not far away. "We'll be there soon," Evander told him as he watched the older man search blindly out of curiosity. As promised, they saw lights and movement through the woods within just a few more minutes. As they approached, Maurice recognized what looked like a carnival. When he got closer, however, there were several disturbing differences. For one – the cages held people. Teenagers and young men and women with multicoloured hair formed into all sorts of spikes and twists. Some of them had piercings all over their faces and arms. Some were covered in tattoos or scars. Evander didn't look like any of these kids, but he didn't seem to mind them. He nodded and smiled at several of them as they walked by.

Evander made a left at a small tent with a large sign that said "freaks" on it and continued going straight until he reached a clearing surrounded by camping tents. In the center was a huge bonfire, taller than Maurice, and more teenagers were scattered around, staring disapprovingly at him. Evander brought him into one of the nearby tents (which was, much to Maurice's reflief, empty), sat him down on inchair and promptly began cleaning the blood off his face and arms.

"Lumiere! What do you think you are doing?!"

Evander stopped what he was doing and turned to face the entrance. A boy, of about nineteen or twenty years, marched into the tent. He, like Evander, looked relatively normal compared to most of the kids there. He had sandy brown hair, and diamond stud in one ear, and a pirate captain's hat perched upon his head. He wore a long-tailed, black jacket and pinstriped brown pants that contrasted nicely with his sharp features and pale complexion. The thing that had really caught Maurice's eye, however, was not his clothing, but the dozens of watches that were secured on various parts of his body. There were three on one wrist, five on the other, one hanging from each pocket, one on the front of his belt, and a rather large, golden one on a chain that hung around his neck. It reminded him immediately of his late wife's locket that he often wore around his own neck. Absentmindedly, he reached up place his hand on it and quickly realized it had gone missing. He looked down, but there was no sign of it, no familiar glint of gold near the collar of his jacket. Maurice's eyes flitted to the ground, but he knew his efforts would be useless for now.

"Cogsworth!" Evander cried, rushing forward and taking the older boy by the shoulders.

"Lumiere," the boy, Cogsworth, snapped. "Who is that?" Evander glanced back at the old man. "Why…this is my friend…er…"

"Maurice Carmichael," he answered with as much of a smile as he could muster.

"Maurice Carmichael!" Evander repeated harmonically, nearly slaughtering the man's name with his harsh French accent.

"Ah, Maurice," Cogsworth said. "Yes, yes. Welcome, welcome, very good. Well, I hope your stay was enjoyable. Don't forget to write." He moved to approach Maurice, but Lumiere stepped in front of him.

"Cogsworth, have a heart. This man needs help! Look at him!"

"Yes, yes, he's lovely, quite enjoyable, but he has to leave." Cogsworth crossed his arms over his chest and gave Lumiere a stern look.

"But he was just in a 'orrible accident!" exclaimed Lumiere in desperation. "He has no way to get 'ome! His car has just crashed!"

"This man's car crashes are no concern of mine," Cogsworth stated with a _hmpf!_ "Pleasure meeting you. Good day. Hope to see you on the outside. Good bye." He began moving closer, but was once again cut off by Lumiere.

"I will take care of him!" he insisted with wide, amber eyes.

"If the Beast finds out, he will have our heads!" Cogsworth refuted.

"He will not find out!"

Maurice was quite puzzled. Surely, this "beast" was no real beast. They spoke about him as if he had control, like some sort of king. Surely, no animal could fill that position, even in a place like this. He opened his mouth to speak, but was immediately cut off by a horrible roar from outside of the tent.

Lumiere jumped nearly a foot into the air and began trembling violently. Cogsworth began muttering to Lumiere under his breath "I told you so. I told you so. I told you so." but Maurice wasn't paying any attention to them. He was entirely focused on the doorway. He was certain whatever had made that noise was going to enter their tent any moment. Lumiere looked back at Maurice as if to explain what was going on. Instead, he just sighed and mouthed the words 'I'm sorry'.


End file.
